Oooh La La Rochelle

What an absolutely delightful surprise!  Thank you, thank you, Caroline and Julie for suggesting we add La Rochelle to our itinerary.  We've never talked to anyone who's been here, read anything about it,  but it sounded like a perfect 'water fix' about now.  I managed to find a fabulous flat (formerly an artist's atelier) about 10" outside town . . . a click of the gate and we're inside.

I could definitely channel my inner princess here.

And the bathroom had his and her sinks . . . this is heaven.  We've stayed in lots of places over the years and on several continents, but this has to rank right up there as one of the neatest places we've ever stayed.  This adventure is off to a really fine start!!  Off to discover La Rochelle.

La Rochelle is about halfway down the Atlantic coast of France and has been a major port since the time of the Romans.  Its harbor is flanked by two ancient stone towers and is still home to a massive fishing fleet, sailing fleet, and trans-oceanic shipping concerns.  A quick stop at the Tourist Center with the friendliest most helpful staff, and we're parked and on our way.  First stop - lunch!

I order mussels in the 'traditional' style (there seem to be 100 of them in the pot) and Tim orders carbonara, both of which are wonderful. A wander around the inner harbor . . .

And through the arch and into the old town for a walkabout.

Colonnaded walkways, sidewalk cafes, auto-free streets . . . French living at it finest!

We decide to visit the Museum of the New World which our handy tourist guide tells us is mostly about the French and the slave trade.  Huh?  The French and the slave trade??  Once we actually think about it, it all makes sense.  The French West Indies were essentially island plantations, and plantations needed workers, lots and lots of them.  What we now know as Haiti was a French colonial possession. Apparently, the French were very good at this slave trade . . .

Well, color both of us stunned and surprised!  This is a very sobering and depressing bit of French history for sure.

Less than 1% of the slaves who were brought from Africa (primarily Senegal) by the French were successful at revolting during their voyages.  We can't read the plaque, but think this statue may be in recognition of those few . . .

Of the three French Atlantic coast ports (Nantes and Bordeaux being the other two), La Rochelle was the busiest and most profitable for slavers. The slave trade was officially abolished with the Revolution, but Napoleon brought it back at the end of the 18th century (to strengthen the French presence in North America and share in the profits from the plantations).  It wasn't until 1848 that slavery was officially abolished in France, a consequence of various military defeats on American soil and revolts in places like Haiti, rather than a realignment of France's moral compass.

From the late 1500's when the French began slave trading, until its abolitions, the French brought 1.25 million African blacks to French colonies in the Caribbean.  Many French family fortunes were 'earned' this way . . . the museum audio guide relates that the owner of the house that now includes this museum was a slaver.

On an upbeat note, the museum has a stunning collection of the photographs of  Edward Curtis.  I looked at this one and then looked again with that 'I know this place' feeling.

No, it couldn't be . . .  but it is!!  An early 1900's Curtis photo of the San Xavier Mission which is about 10 miles from where we live.  Here it is hanging in a museum in La Rochelle, France!

We've loved our wander around the harbor and the old city, but it's a sober pair who make their way back to the car park.

Chenonceaux: The Ladies' Chateau

On our last trip to France, we managed to visit one chateau in the Loire Valley, Lengeais, and it's really more of a medieval castle, repurposed as a chateau.  Chenonceaux is a whole other matter.  It may be the most famous of all the chateau, certainly the most visited, and has earned the title 'the ladies'  chateau'.  The reason:  since its construction in the early 1500's, it's been ladies who've dictated its design, laid out its gorgeous gardens, and, with one notable exception, given it its cozy, livable character.

You could say it started in the mid-1500's with Henry II who gave Chenonceaux to Diane de Poitiers, his favorite mistress.  She loved the chateau and personalized it for their not-so-secret hideaway.  Upon his death, Henry's wife, Catherine de Medici, tossed Diane out (into another chateau) and installed herself as the grande dame.  She, too, continued to improve and personalize it, including the addition of 'self-sustaining' gardens and a vineyard.  Her plans to radically expand the chateau never materialized.  She died and Chenonceaux went to her daughter-in-law who, upon hearing of her husband's assassination just months after moving in, spent her remaining years at Chenonceaux in mourning and prayer.  Her bedroom is painted dark grey and looks like the inside of a tomb.

It's about a 10" walk from the parking lot to the chateau; the trees that line the walkway (and many of the roads in France) are gorgeous.  They're called plane trees and go back to the 15th century, the result of an accidental English hybridization.  Now they're considered a hazard for drivers (the trees always win in an accident) and there's a move to cut down every one of them . . .

Our first glimpse . . .

The chateau is on the River Cher, an offshoot of the Loire; together they formed the dividing line between Vichy and 'Free France'; smuggling resistance fighters and supplies through Chenonceaux was common during WWII.

One of the most amazing - and unexpected -  things was the abundance of tapestries.  The reception/pick up your audio guide room (formerly the guard room) was lined with them.

The very next room was Diane's boudoir - gorgeous!

The flowers are all fresh, grown in the greenhouse established by Catherine de Medici.  She was not what one would call a 'looker' and legend has it that Diane (who definitely was)  installed this very unflattering portrait of Catherine before taking her leave.

Diane extended the original chateau to the opposite bank of the Cher, and Catherine embellished the corridor and gave grand parties while in residence.

You know we can't visit any place that has a kitchen and not inspect it very carefully.  Tim is puzzling over this ingenious device for turning the rotisserie spits.

And the oven, which was a marvel.

The butchery overseen by a stuffed boar's head on the far wall.

According to the guide, the chateau was used as a hospital during WWI and up to 200 patients were cared for and fed every day for years.  The chateau was also bombed by both sides during WWII (the Germans actually occupied it for a while), and much of it was badly damaged.

The staff dining room and a view of the grand corridor on the first (our second) floor. . .

One of the more interesting aspects of this chateau is the tremendous influence of the Italian Renaissance.  Catherine was responsible for importing many artists, and their influence is obvious in the architecture and paintings.

Catherine's bedroom with tapestries that were breathtaking.  She was also known as the Mother of five Queens, one of which included Mary Queen of Scots (technically not her daughter) who married one of Catherine's sons.

This fabulous inlaid chest was a wedding present to her son and Mary.

And finally the sad, dreary boudoir of the last royal occupant, Queen Louise, wife of Henri III.

One of the last things Henry asked before dying was that his wife never leave Chenonceaux.  She took him literally, roamed the chateau dressed in black, and mourned him until her death years later.

Like so many architectural wonders in this country, Chenonceaux went through a succession of owners over the centuries (many of them women) until the mid-1700's when it became the property of Madame Louise Dupin.  Perhaps the best known saloniste of her time, Madame Dupin was the darling of Paris as well as the great thinkers of the French Enlightenment.  She was smart, witty, kind, and beautiful.  On first meeting her, Rousseau fell hopelessly, madly in love. She is credited with saving Chenonceaux from destruction during the Revolution as even the locals held her in  high esteem.  She lived to be 93.

It went through another long line of owners (including a Cuban millionaire in the late 1800's), until it was purchased by the Menier family (French chocolatiers) in the 1950's and they funded its restoration to its former glory.  Hooray for all of us who love chocolate and gorgeous chateaus!

Another iconic view of the chateau . . . can you tell how cold it was???  Not another tourist in sight!

At Caroline and Julie's suggestion, we're off to LaRochelle tomorrow. It's one of France's major seaports - maybe it'll be warmer??

Mont Saint-Michel

Our favorite travel writer, Rick Steves, has this advice regarding Mont St. Michel:  'Arrive late, depart early.'  He was spot on this time.  Mont St. Michel is one of those absolutely iconic, 'must see' attractions for every foreign tourist who comes to France.  Now it's just reasonably crowded; I can only imagine what a mad house it must be in July and August.

Just this past year, the French government completed an ambitious and well-done project to get people back and forth to the Mont. All parking is off-site; free navettes (shuttle busses) pick you up at the visitor center, shuttle you across the channel on a beautiful raised causeway, and drop you at the perfect photo-op point.

Until recently, getting to the Mont was a carefully-timed adventure. The channel has huge tides (up to 50') and you either made it over and back from the mainland on a bridge that was submerged at high tide or ended up spending the night.  And if the tides weren't a deterrent, the channel is laced with quicksand.  In the 'old (pre-bridge) days' you had to hire a guide to take you across.  I read that in the Middle Ages, the monks recorded 18 deaths in one year either by drowning or being submerged in quicksand.

It's a short walk into Mont town which has something like 25 residents (and a mayor) but logs over three million visitors a year (France's number one site, after the attractions of Paris).  I know this is hard to believe,  but we had the most amazing midday meal!  Somehow our feeble minds remembered to look at Tim's watch and at precisely 1:58 ducked into a very crowded restaurant and found a seat. The waiter asked if we knew what we wanted.  'Could we see the menu?'  'Non, no time!'  Good thing we'd pretty much decided before we walked in - and checked out some other diners' plates before we sat down!  We were the last people seated for lunch, and it was absolutely delicious - mussels and a boeuf bourguignon (Deb and Paul, stop drooling).

One of the nicest things about dining out in France is that you're never rushed.  You can sit at a table forever and never get a 'look' or a waiter hustle.  So we sat there, tummies full, and watched the crowds surge back and forth.

This is as close as we got to making the climb up to the monastery.

The Mont is noted in historical records as early as Roman times when it was a military stronghold.  Numerous attempts at invasion have failed; the Bayeux Tapestry actually shows riders being rescued from the quicksand after their efforts to take over the Mont.  It has been a monastery, a site of pilgrimages, and, for varying periods starting with the French Revolution, a prison.  A handful of  religious now call the abbey home, and it has been a UNESCO world heritage site since 1979.

A break in the tourist horde . . .

That's a statue of St. Michael at the very tip of the spire.

You can see the 'town' snugged up to the monastery.

Technically, the Mont is in Normandy, not Breton.  In prehistoric times, it was on totally dry land.  Rising sea levels over the centuries made it an island, situated at the mouth of the Couesnon River, the border between Breton and Normandy.  Thanks to this ambitious causeway, it will stay an island for a very long time.

If you're a Tour de France fan, Mont Saint Michel is the starting point for the 2016 race.

My photo of the mud flats at low tide.  I showed Tim this photo and he quipped  'Don't I wish . . . '

Fort la Latte

We could spend weeks exploring Breton and after puzzling over the map and a few of the many brochures Caroline left for us, decide we'll take make our first outing to Fort la Latte (I mean how can you resist a fort named for our favorite caffeinated beverage?).  It doesn't appear to be that long a drive but we're learning that French country roads are not accurately depicted on any maps . . . what looks like 20 maybe 25 km when shown as a couple of squiggly roads can chew up 45-60 minutes of drive time.

The Breton coastline is wonderfully rugged and scenic. Its northern border, just west of Normandy runs all the way out to the westernmost tip of France (Brest) and then around and south where it borders the Atlantic.  Close to the English Channel part of the Breton coast and technically part of Normandy but under the jurisdiction of the UK (confused yet?), are The Channel Islands, a 90" ferry ride from St. Malo, an ancient walled city in Breton.  Politically and administratively, the Channel Islands are sort of a part of the UK (but not in the EU - I know, huh?)  and enjoy a unique relationship with the Crown which I'm sure goes back to William the Conqueror.  One of my all-time favorite reads, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society is set on one of the Channel Islands during the German occupation of WWII.  But I digress . . . maybe it's thinking about forts and scenic coastlines.

Here we are, ready to enter Fort la Latte.

Fort la Latte was one of the prime defensive positions on this part of the coast, built to ward off invaders from both land and sea.  Invaders by land used a battering ram; ever wonder why it was called a 'ram'?

We concluded that this was the most common farm animal in Breton, everyone knew what it looked like, and many had felt the brunt of its head and horns.

This is not a big fort, in fact it's pretty small based on forts we've seen, but it comes complete with a drawbridge and a dungeon which is described in gruesome detail.  The Fort's history dates back to the 14th century, but local legend has it that it was originally a wooden keep and watchtower from as early as the 900's.  It was destroyed several times, rebuilt, and then restored as a national monument in the 20th century in keeping with its feudal origins.

The placques scattered in different locations are only modestly informative - no doubt the result of a non-native English speaker translating from French.  Small as it it is, the Fort has a sweet chapel.

We learn that this is privately held by a family from Monaco and as Tim observed, 'This is a good gig; 5 euros a head and no doubt exemption from property tax because it's a national monument.'

One part of the fort has a door marked 'prive' but I sneak a photo through the glass.  Obviously this was where the fort commandant and his family lived; based on the PC and printer, the current occupants are hooked firmly to the 21st century.

View along the ramparts . . .

And the gorgeous Breton coastline below . . .

All this traipsing over ramparts has left us with a big appetite so it's off to find a restaurant that's open (seems that every restaurant in France - other than the ever-present/ever-open McDonald's - closes between the hours of 2pm and either 5:30 or 7:30pm!)  Fortunately, we find one in a small town and tuck into a gaillette:

Gaillettes can never have more than three ingredients - ours have egg, ham, and cheese.  We lick the plates clean!  Note the upside down writing on the placemat - Lancelot is claimed as one of the most famous Bretons and 'Breizh' is the politically correct spelling.

On to Brittany's most famous and iconic attraction, Mont St. Michel.

Le Blas du Maison Rouge

We're off to visit friends, Caroline and Julie, who live in a charming wee commune (St. Aubin du Cormier) in Brittany (pronounced 'bre-tah').  We spent a delightful 5 days with them in 2013 when they lived in Normandy and have received an enthusiastic invitation to visit with them in their new home.  My last email to them went unanswered so I've a bit if a niggling doubt that they know we're coming today . . . in that email I also asked for directions to their home (their Christmas card return address simply said 'Le Blas du Maison Rouge' - no house number!).  We exit the toll road and begin looking for a 'lower red house'.  One of us had the foresight to actually google the address and remembered that it was shown on the road out of town . . . somewhere. Amazingly, astoundingly, miraculously we see this sign on the left side of the road, with an arrow up a dirt driveway:   'Le Blas du Maison Rouge'!!  We turn in and check with a local farmer who assures us 'Oui, Oui, - maison Caroline and Julie'.  The house is neither 'lower' nor 'red'.  I think it's a French thing . . .

They are very happy to see us.  Only one small problem . . . they're leaving tomorrow for the US!  A friend of Caroline's from grad school has invited them to her wedding, something Caroline related in her email response, which is, no doubt, still in cyberspace.  No matter, we go out for a lovely dinner at a local, very authentic restaurant, and all order gaillettes (a filled, buckwheat crepe but don't all it a crepe) and hard cider, both of which are very Breton.

This is a unique part of France.  It could be Ireland there are so many redheads; the language is definitely Celtic; the identify fierce and the roads free (may not sound like much but all high-speed, controlled access highways in France are toll roads and they are very pricey).  Not that long ago, a child christened with a Celtic first name could be denied French citizenship.

Packing up for the drive to the airport in Nantes.

We have carte blanche to stay as long as we want just please feed the animals . . . this cage has three rabbits, separated to prevent them from becoming 30 before Caroline and Julie get home.

These ducks are so endearing; you might be able to see that the one on the left has his upper bill cut, mutilated actually.  I ask Caroline, and she tells me that the breeder from whom they bought them (as wee ducklings) did that to keep them from pecking each other.  They really didn't notice but now that they are grown (the ducks, not Julie and Caroline), it makes it difficult for them to scoop up food.

A bonus - one or two fresh eggs every day, thanks to the hens.

Ever wonder what happens to all the unsold/day-old French baguettes?  Caroline was curious and asked her local boulangerie if she could have the leftovers for her chickens and ducks and voila!  Our endearing ducks can grab a bit of baguette very easily.

I'm channeling my inner Marie Antoinette but Tim's balking at bathing and perfuming the sheep!  Stay tuned . . .